


Drinking to Forget

by Zorro_sci



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Brian Banner's A+ Parenting, Bruce Banner Has Issues, M/M, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark has PTSD, Triggers, drunk!Tony Stark, warning for alcohol abuse, warning for child abuse, warning for physical and emotional abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-02-10 13:07:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 7,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2026218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zorro_sci/pseuds/Zorro_sci
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony's PTSD has steadily gotten worse since facing the Mandarin.  The only solace he seems to find is when he drinks until he forgets, but he's spend more and more of his time drunk . . . .and that's far from fine with his boyfriend, who has more than a few issues of his own with the current situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wormhole and drowning

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a joint fill for http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/19458.html?thread=46068738#t46068738 and http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/19458.html?thread=46055682#t46055682 on Avengerkink.

_He's flying through the wormhole, nuke in hand, slowly realizing that he'll never get back home. The HUD flickers and then sputters out and it goes dark. The suit can't handle these conditions . . . He's going to die. But before he closes his eyes to accept his fate, he see the Chitauri ship light up as the missile impacts the hull._

_Suddenly, his surroundings shift and he's in his home in Malibu. The explosions continue, but this time they're caused by rockets that have been unleashed on his house. They take out the supports and suddenly the mansion is falling, tumbling over the cliff, and he's still inside. There's no way out as he plummets into the ocean, just the weight of the suit and the crumbling house dragging him down. The suit won't keep the water out . . .he's going to drown, he thinks as breathing becomes harder and harder . . ._

Tony awoke panting, chest heaving as he tried to get his breath back. His eyes darted around the dark room and he had to consciously remind himself that he was in his bedroom at the Tower. He was not in space, he was not in the Pacific Ocean, he was at home, in bed, safe.

"Tony? Are you alright?" a quiet voice asked from beside him.

He ran a hand over his face, wishing that he had managed to avoid waking Bruce. 

"Yeah, I'm fine," he said, making every effort to keep his voice from shaking.

"Another nightmare? Do you want to talk about?" Bruce asked hesitantly, as he reached over and gently placed a hand on Tony's shoulder.

"No, I'll be okay . . . .just go back to sleep," he reassured, shrugging off Bruce's hand.

"Are you sure?" The other hedged.

"Yeah, I just need some time to calm down. I'll be fine," he said.

The room was too dark for him to confirm his suspicions, but he could feel Bruce's eyes studying him as if he were sizing him up. It made him feel uncomfortable, but he just remained still until Bruce seemed to give up in trying to get him to talk and turned over in the bed.

As he waited for the physicist to drift off, his mind filled with a dozen horrible memories, all competing for his attention and making him feel incredibly nervous. His thoughts raced, and his chest started to feel tight, so he stumbled out of the bed and into the other room.

He half-stumbled his way to the bar, and poured himself a glass of scotch with shaking hands. The burn of the liquor was pleasant and familiar. It helped ground him in the moment, and as he continued to drink, his racing thoughts slowed down. 

He knew that with a few more drinks he'd be comfortably numb, his thoughts sluggish, and his worries forgotten. Given the things that would haunt his thoughts otherwise, numb seemed like a good alternative. So he poured himself another glass.


	2. Roots of the Problem

Bruce sighed when he saw Tony passed out at the bar the following morning. For a minute his eyes played a trick on him and he saw Brian Banner, drunk and slumped over the desk in his study, but he quickly shook his head to rid himself of the image. Tony was not Brian, he told himself vehemently. They were not the same. Sure Tony liked his scotch, but he had never, and would never raise a hand to Bruce. 

Besides, Tony was just going through a rough patch and dealing with it in a less than healthy way. It was just a temporary situation he told himself, but knew that was a lie. The problem was more ongoing than that, and deep down he knew it.

Looking back on the time he had known Tony, he would be lying if he said he didn't notice that the first thing that Tony did when they arrived at the Tower after the Battle of New York was go to the bar. He noticed, but he was quick to excuse it. Tony had, after all, just cheated death. There were far worse reasons to drink.

He would also be lying if he said he didn't notice that in the days following the battle Tony drank no less than three double portions of scotch a day. He had one when he woke up, one right before he went to bed, and at least one other some time throughout the day. And that was just scotch. It wasn't uncommon for Tony to have a glass of wine or two, or possibly one or two bottles of beer as well.

Still, Bruce didn't say a word at the time. It wasn't really his business. Sure, he considered Tony a friend, but they had really just met. It seemed a bit rude for Bruce to start criticizing his new friend's lifestyle so early in the relationship, especially after all the generosity Tony had shown in welcoming him into his home in the first place. Besides, Tony never really seemed to get drunk, he just seemed to drink a lot, (which said things about his tolerance for alcohol that Bruce did not want to think about). 

Soon Bruce didn't need to worry about it anyway, because Tony seemed to swap the drinking for days long science binges with him, (not that he never drank, he just drank considerably less). Their science-athons were far from healthy, but they provided them the change to talk, joke, and just get to know each other better. The more time they spent in the lab, the more their friendship grew, and eventually that friendship blossomed into something more.

The pair enjoyed "sciencing" together, talking together, watching movies together, eating meals together, making out together, and eventually sleeping together, (both literally and figuratively). In general, they just loved being together. Being together was easy. They trusted each other, and they had a lot in common. They built a solid foundation for their relationship, and then separated for the Christmas holiday.

Bruce had spent Christmas with his cousin Jennifer, now that they were newly reunited after he had finally stopped running and let her know he was still alive. Tony on the other hand, had gone to Malibu to be with Pepper, Happy and Rhodey. Neither of them had any idea all of the drama that would come out of those few short weeks.

In the time they were apart, Tony had a handful of panic attacks, almost lost one of his close friends in an explosion, had his mansion blown up and fall of a cliff _while he was in it_ , and faced off against an international terrorist. Bruce couldn't blame him for being a little, or even a lot, paranoid after that. He knew the incident had left scars on top of the already painful scars from the Battle of New York, but Tony never talked about it. (Well, he had talked about it once, but it was right after he had returned. At the time, Bruce had spent the better part of a week in mourning because he thought Tony had died in the attack on the mansion. He'd been inconsolable, despite Jen's best efforts, and had refused both food and sleep. Once he saw Tony alive and relatively unharmed, he was so relieved he almost cried. He relaxed for the first time in days, and once Tony started talking in that rambling way that he did, well, he hadn't meant to, but he fell asleep.)

Since then, things had only gotten worse. Tony was having nightmares nearly every night, and the nights he didn't it was because he didn't come to bed at all. Bruce knew what he was doing those nights, and where he went when he left their bedroom after a nightmare, but he didn't know what to do. 

The drinking was only a symptom of the larger problem, of his PTSD, and Bruce knew that. He knew Tony was using it to hide from his anxiety, but each time he refused to talk about what was bothering him and left to seek refuge in a bottle of scotch, it hurt a little more. It was a coping mechanism, but it could destroy him; Bruce had seen that all too clearly in his own family, and Bruce wasn't sure how much longer he could stay silent.


	3. THERE'S NOTHING TO TALK ABOUT!

Tony and Bruce had fallen into their normal routine once the engineer had finally made his way down to the lab around noon. They laughed and joked like they always did, but Bruce noticed the way Tony's motions seemed sluggish, and less precise than normal.

He waited for an opening to try and get the other man to open up, and when the billionaire let out a loud, long yawn that he couldn't hide if he tried, Bruce seized on the opportunity.

"Tired?" he questioned conversationally.

"A little," Tony brushed off the question. 

"Did you manage to get back to sleep last night? You weren't in bed when I woke up," Bruce commented casually.

He didn't look up from his work, hoping if he kept this casual, maybe, just maybe, Tony would be willing to talk.

"I had things I needed to get done, and I couldn't sleep, so I decided to get up and do them," Tony dismissed.

_If you count drinking until you pass out as 'things that needed to get done,'_ Bruce thought bitterly.

"You seem to be having trouble sleeping a lot lately," he observed.

"So? It happens. You hardly slept the first few weeks you lived here. You had so many nightmares I lost count. I hardly think you're one to be judging," the billionaire said defensively.

"I'm not judging, I'm just worried. You've been avoiding sleep, and when you do sleep you have nightmares. Something's bothering you . . . Do you want to talk about it?" Bruce tried, (and okay, that was a bit more direct than he had planned, but maybe it would work).

"There's nothing to tell," Tony said flatly.

"Tony . . ."

"There's nothing to tell!" he yelled, turning on his heel and leaving the lab in a rush.

Bruce sighed. That certainly could have gone better.

_"Leave me alone!" Brian Banner's voice yelled inside the study._

_"But Brian, I just . . ." Rebecca's voice said weakly._

_"I said, LEAVE ME ALONE!" he roared._

_The sound of a breaking glass filled the air, and then Rebecca tumbled out of the study. She landed on the floor, her eyes frightened as the study door was slammed behind her. She looked to be on the verge of tears, but she quickly schooled her face when she realized that Bruce was standing a few feet away._

_"Daddy's just having a bad day," she soothed, getting up and walking over to envelop her young son in a hug._

Bruce tightly scrunched his eyes shut and took a deep breath; clearing the unbidden memory. It _**was not**_ the same.


	4. Dinner and Whiskey

Bruce almost flinched when Tony came to the dinner table reeking of whiskey. He had figured that the engineer had made his way to the bar when he left the lab, but confronted with the undeniable proof of his bloodshot eyes and slightly stumbling walk, Bruce felt sick. The tousled hair from running his fingers through it in frustration, the glassy eyes, and worse of all, the smell, all screamed 'Brian Banner' so loudly that he had to force himself not to flee.

 _He is **not** my father!_ he reminded himself firmly.

Despite his desire to hide, instead he set out the pasta primavera and garlic bread he had prepared on the table. He served Tony first, giving him a hearty portion of the pasta and bread, ( _help soak up some of the alcohol and make things easier on his liver_ ). Then he filled his own plate.

They ate in silence, but Bruce noticed with satisfaction that at least Tony was eating. All too often lately he had been skipping meals. Any attempts on Bruce's part to encourage him to eat had usually been met with resistance and excuses, so he was very grateful that Tony had come voluntarily this time.

Still, as relieved as he was that Tony was finally eating, the distance and awkwardness between them was palpable. The silence was oppressive, and Bruce was half-convinced that Tony was going to storm out of the room at any second. He seemed on edge, his eyes dark and his body always moving, whether he was shaking his foot or tapping his fork. Every time he tried to meet Tony's eye, the billionaire broke eye contact, and soon he did leave, muttering some excuse about recalibrating something.

Bruce buried his face in his hands and rubbed at his eyes wearily. What should he do? Tony was clearly hurting, and he himself was living in a veritable minefield of triggers for his childhood trauma. The current situation was very unhealthy for both of them, but so far any attempts to talk about anything even vaguely related to the situation had seemed to drive Tony away. 

Should he give him space and hope he realized on his own that his current situation was unsustainable, and would make things worse in the long run? If his own father was anything to go by, that was unlikely to work. Should he be more direct? Suggest that Tony seek help for his alcoholism and PTSD? Would that work, or would it only make Tony retreat further into himself?

He heaved a sigh. He resolved that he would do the dishes, and then go to bed. Maybe things would be clearer tomorrow.


	5. Paranoia

"Can you believe them, J?" Tony ranted as he poured himself another drink. "They claim to care, but while I was in Malibu all Pepper did was bitch about the suits. If she _really_ cared she would have realized that they made me feel safer, but nooooo. It was, 'Tony, you need to get out of your workshop. Tony, you have obligations to the company. Tony, quite frankly you've made a ridiculous number of suits.'"

He finished his drink and poured another, "And Rhodey . . . first he just comes at me with the 'are you sleeping? People are worried?' thing . . . then, when I actually needed him, he told me I was making people nervous. I was in the middle of a panic attack, and all he could think about was public image."

He slammed down the tumbler on the bar, "I'm telling you, J. They're not trustworthy. Any of them. Pepper only cares about the company, she wants me to toe the line because she's worried about me doing something that will cause bad press. Rhodey is worried that he'll have no one to maintain his suit if I go off the deep end, or that I'll do something that will drag Iron Man through the mud, and Iron Patriot, which is still an idiotic name, will get roped into the bad press too. They're all just using me. No one really cares. You're the only one I can trust."

"While I am flattered sir, I am sure you are mistaken," JARVIS responded. "They seem to care about you a great deal . . .and what about Dr. Banner? His concern seems sincere. He has inquired after your well-being many times."

He took another swig of the whiskey and then started gesturing with his glass, "Bruce is the worst of them all. He's a phony. He's always looking at me with those big concerned eyes. He's always claiming to worry about me and care about me . . .But when I really needed to talk to someone? When all the shit that happened got to be too much . . . What did he do? He fell asleep. He couldn't be bothered to listen then, why would it be any different now?"

"You won't know if you don't try, sir," the AI replied.

"Great, I can't even trust my own AI. He sides with everyone else against me," Tony mumbled. 

"I am not against you, sir. I merely wish to point out . . . "

"Mute," Tony barked.

Tony continued to mumble to himself about not being able to trust anyone, and didn't notice the footsteps in the hallway. Bruce had been roused from his sleep by Tony's ranting, and made his way toward the penthouse living room to see what was going on. When he had heard Tony's obviously drunken ramblings he had stopped short, unwilling to confront a drunk Tony, but he hadn't left before he heard everything his boyfriend had slurred to his computerized creation.

He hurried back to the bedroom, a weight settling in his chest, and tears threatening to spill from his eyes. He hated to think that Tony felt so alone, hated that he wasn't willing to talk to him, and hated the way the alcohol clouded his judgment enough to let him believe the lies he was spouting. Even worse, he seemed to be becoming more entrenched in those ideas while he was under the influence, his discontent spiraling and growing the more he stewed.

It was heartbreaking and almost surprising to see how negative and paranoid Tony had become, but then again, Bruce had seen this before. He thought back on the nights his father shut himself in his study. He would rant to himself about how no one appreciated him, about how he had been betrayed by the scientific community. How they had set him up to fail, and tampered with his DNA. How they had caused him to pass on monster genes. The more the drink flowed, the more he became convinced of his own words. It would build on itself, becoming worse and worse, and the paranoia growing until he was convinced everyone had betrayed him, they were all plotting against him, and his own son was a monster.


	6. Breakfast and Tension

The next morning, Tony limped into the kitchen clearly nursing a serious hangover. 

"Good morning," Tony groaned.

"Morning," Bruce called from the stove.

Tony trudged his way over, and kissed Bruce on the cheek. Bruce tried not to cringe when Tony got close, the smell of alcohol was nearly overwhelming. Still, Tony was looking at him like it was any other morning, (albeit squinting slightly, probably against the lights due to the hangover), and just like that it was as if their argument had never happened.

"What are you making?" he asked.

"Omelets. A Denver omelet for you, and one with spinach, tomato and feta for me," Bruce replied.

"Brucie, you're the best. You spoil me," he said fondly as he made his way to the table.

"I'm not sure what you're thinking; I was just trying to use the eggs before they spoiled," Bruce commented with a smirk in his voice.

"Sure, pretend it's about avoiding rotten eggs. You know you love me," Tony teased.

"Rotten eggs do smell horrible," he said as he placed the food onto plates.

Tony pouted.

"But, I suppose I might love you too," he said as he put a plate in front of Tony and kissed him on the cheek.

"I knew it!" he crowed, raising his fork into the air in triumph. "Love you too, babe."

"Because I can cook," Bruce scoffed as he sat down with his own omelet.

"For so much more than that," Tony said seriously, before he returned to his food.

"Do these lights seem really bright to you? I swear they've gotten brighter. And are we using the loudest, heaviest forks in the entire Tower? The clatter is unbelievable," Tony complained a short while later.

"No, but it might seem like that when you're nursing a hangover," Bruce said dryly. "There's some ibuprofen on the counter if you want it."

"I've got something better," Tony commented. 

He rose from the table and returned with a glass of orange juice.

"Orange juice?" Bruce questioned.

Tony grinned wickedly, and Bruce wondered what he was missing. He quickly figured it out when Tony got closer and the smell of the vodka assaulted his senses. So, it wasn't _just_ orange juice.

"Really, Tony? A screwdriver? You wake up with a hangover, and you think that's the best thing to have with your breakfast?" Bruce chided.

"I think it'll help take the edge off, _mom_. Besides, why is it any of your business?" he responded defensively.

"Tony, I care about you . . . . . " Bruce started.

"Oh, this song and dance again," Tony said rolling his eyes.

"You can't tell me you haven't noticed that you've spent more and more nights sitting at the penthouse bar," he continued, ignoring the sarcastic comment.

"Yeah, so?" the billionaire challenged.

"I just don't think it's the healthiest choice," Bruce said calmly.

"Really? So what _do_ you think I should do? Seek help?!?" Tony growled.

"Yes," the physicist responded levelly.

"What, you want me to go to AA meetings, and follow their twelve steps, and do all of that garbage?!!?" he spat out incredulously.

"Maybe. Or maybe you could see a counselor. I just think it might help," Bruce replied gently.

"Because I'm _so_ screwed up, and you're _soooo_ well-balanced with your self-loathing, and your suicide attempts, and your rage monster, that you should be giving me advice!" he yelled back.

"Tony, I . . . "

"I've heard enough!" he shouted, and left the room.

 _Great,_ Bruce thought. _That went so well._


	7. JARVIS speaks his piece

"Who does Bruce think he is?!?" Tony ranted out loud as he continued to drink his screwdriver.  
"It's not like he's baggage-free. 

It took me months to convince him he was worthy of love, and even now he goes through days where he absolutely hates himself. 

Who is he to judge anyone else's mental health? Where does he get off telling me I need to get help?"

"I believe Dr. Banner was just trying to help, sir," JARVIS chipped in. 

Bruce had asked him to start monitoring Tony's alcohol intake more closely a few weeks ago, and based on the data he'd compiled, he was concerned too. He knew sir liked to drink, but when the ounces of liquor and the number of minutes spent drinking were graphed and stored as hard data, it was difficult to ignore just _how_ much he was drinking.

"Really?!? Help?!? How? By having me go to some dump of a rundown building and drink bad coffee while I swap sad stories with a bunch of strangers? Or by sobbing about my feelings with some shrink?" he shot back.

"Sir, the data shows that your alcohol consumption has increased practically exponentially since your returned from Malibu. I am sure that any suggestions that Dr. Banner made were with your well-being in mind," the AI clarified.

"The data?" Tony questioned with an edge to his voice. "What, are you working for Bruce now!?! Does he have you tracking me like I'm a child?!?"

"Dr. Banner was concerned that your level of alcohol consumption had increase significantly and become unhealthy, so he asked me to verify or deny his concerns. The data agrees with his assessment," JARVIS said levelly. 

"Does it? Well, does the data say that the only time I don't feel an impending sense of doom is when I drink?!? Does the data say that the only way I can relax is to have a couple of drinks?!? That I haven't been able to sleep through a single night without some alcohol in my system?!? It might not be ideal, but I'm managing. So what if I have a few drinks?!? At least I'm not having one big panic attack all the time!" Tony yelled.

"Respectfully, sir, that might be more reason to consider Dr. Banner's suggestion," the AI responded in his usual, measured tone.

"Mute!" he growled. "Great, Dr. Holier-than-thou turned my AI against. Gotta love when your own creation spies on you."


	8. Tony Stark ≠ Brian Banner . . . . Right?

Bruce let Tony have the rest of the day to cool off. He was planning to talk to him that evening, but when he found him, he was already drinking his way into a stupor. He knew he wouldn't get anywhere while Tony was drunk, so he decided to wait until the next morning, hoping he could catch him before he started drinking, (though that was becoming harder and harder).

Trying to calm his mind enough to sleep, Bruce laid down in their bed and tried not to remember that the other side was vacant, like it had been most nights since Tony returned.

_Footstep fell heavily across the floor, and he stilled like he was frozen, trying to keep his breathing even and silent. He couldn't be found. If he was . . . He tried to banish the thought of what would happen._

_His legs were falling asleep from the prolonged amount of time he had spend in his crouched position. It was starting to become painful. Becoming desperate, he shifted slightly, but when he did he accidentally hit one of the legs of the couch._

_Hearing the noise, he couldn't help but let out a small involuntary gasp, and soon he smelled vile whiskey-breath in his face. He flinched, knowing he'd been found, and then he was being hauled out from his hiding place and lifted up by a rough hand at the back of his neck._

_"Found you, monster," the voice hissed. "Did you think you could hide, boy?"_

_"No sir," he said quietly, hoping to avoid further trouble._

_A hand made contact with his face in a slap so hard it had him seeing white polka dots._

_"Then why were you under the couch?!?"_

_He stayed silent. He knew he couldn't say anything that wouldn't result in a beating. Better not to try._

_"Answer me, freak!"_

_He was punched in the stomach and then dropped to the floor. A couple of sharp kicks were dealt to his ribs, and then he was hauled up by his shirt again. The whiskey-breath filled his nostrils again, and he expected to see the raged-filled face of his father in front of him once more, only the face had changed._

_In front of him now was a face with a stylized goatee and brown eyes that were normally soft and warm, but right now were hard and cold._

_"You can't take care of yourself, what makes you think you have any right to try to 'help' me? You didn't even listen to me when I needed you! Where do you get off thinking you can tell me that I need help?!? What do you know?!?" Tony accused._

_"I just want you to be safe! You've been different since Malibu. You're hurting and you won't say anything. I don't like seeing you suffer. And you're self-medicating with alcohol. That's a dangerous road, and I don't want to see you get hurt," he said, his voice sounding small and childish._

_The face shifted again, and Brian Banner was sneering at him, "Really, boy? Are you really that noble, or are you just afraid of your boyfriend, because now he reminds you of me? Afraid to be dating someone like dear old dad . . . You always were weak, and one of the most selfish people I knew. Don't lie! This has nothing to do with him, and everything to do with you!_

Bruce awoke in a cold sweat. His dream still haunted him, the feelings it brought up were all too much, so he curled up into a ball and cried.


	9. Who's getting hurt?

Bruce walked into Tony's workshop the next morning. His gate was purposeful, and his eyes determined.

"Tony, we need to talk," he said.

"Bruce, I don't want to . . ." he started.

"Just listen," he cut the engineer off. "About yesterday, I know I'm not the most stable person in the world. I've had my fair share of nightmares, and yes, I've been low enough to try to kill myself, but Tony that doesn't mean that I can't see what's happening. You've been having trouble since the Battle of New York, and it's only gotten worse since what happened in Malibu. I wish you would talk to me about it, and yes, I know I fell asleep when you tried to tell me last time, but I promise I wouldn't do that if you tried to talk to me again. I was just so exhausted from . . . Never mind that . . . .in short, you can talk to me if you want, but back to the bigger issue.

Tony, you've been running to the bar every time you get scared or upset. I know it probably seems like it's helping, and it probably helps you feel like you're less out of control, but it's only making things worse. You've passed out drunk on the bar counter too many nights to count. You're hurting yourself, and it's really hard to watch. 

On a selfish note, it hurts me to watch. I love you. I hate to see you hurting that much. I hate to think how much you've come to depend on something that's poisoning you. It scares me; a lot.

Just, please, Tony; think about it. Do you really want things to continue the way they are? It doesn't have be AA, or a counselor . . .you can find what you think will work for you, but I think you should consider _something_ to help you with your alcohol addiction. I don't think anything is going to get any better until you're willing to take that first step," Bruce said earnestly.

He knew that was probably a lot to confront Tony with, but he couldn't stop his gush of emotions. He knew, given how he had reacted yesterday, it was unlikely he would react well this time. Still, Bruce had to try. It was just too much to stay silent anymore, so he prayed that this time Tony would listen.

"Banner, I don't want help, or need help, so you and your kindly concern can kindly fuck off. I'm an adult and I can make my own decisions. Besides, it's not like I'm driving drunk, or getting into bar fights. I'm having a few drinks in the privacy of my own home. No one is getting hurt by that," he said evenly, but there was an underlying viciousness to his tone. 

_You're hurting me!_ Bruce thought as he stared at him. He knew this would probably be the reaction he got, but it still hurt. 

"Now, if you're done harassing me for my lifestyle choices and using my AI to spy on me, which yes, I know about; then I have some work to get back to," he said coldly.

Bruce left the workshop trying not to cry. In his heart, he had known this was coming, known for a long time, but he had never been more sure he was losing Tony to the alcohol than that moment.


	10. Ultimatum

Bruce was surprised to find Tony in their bed that night. He didn't think he would want anything to do with him yet. Then again, Tony was already asleep and probably passed out from sheer exhaustion. Besides, it technically was his bed anyway, so it shouldn't have surprised Bruce that he was there. He shouldn't read into it.

As Bruce contemplated whether or not he should go sleep on the couch, Tony started to whimper in his sleep. He started tossing around and his breathing changed from soft, even snores to gasping pants. 

Unable to stop himself, Bruce was by his side in the blink of an eye, gently stroking his cheek and forehead, trying to calm the other man without waking him. For a while it seemed to work. Tony's breathing seemed to be becoming more even, and his desperate whimpers were lessening. Then, he bolted upright, his eyes wild, and his breath caught in his chest.

He looked around the room, his face looking lost and confused. He seemed to take in each little piece of the room, and finally his eyes rested on Bruce.

"Are you okay?" Bruce asked gently.

Tony stared at him a second more, and then his eyes went hard. He turned his back on him, and went to stand.

"I'm fine. This isn't more proof that I'm broken. You can go back to whatever you were doing," he said from between gritted teeth.

"Tony . . ." Bruce pleaded as he followed the other man into the adjacent room.

He was about to plead with Tony to talk to him. To let him know that he was there, and he cared. He followed him to the bar, intending to outright beg him to tell him what was wrong, but when Tony turned around to look at him, he leveled him with a defiant look, grabbed a bottle of scotch, and started pouring.

Bruce couldn't take it. He wasn't going to watch, he _could not_ watch Tony throw his life away, so he grabbed the bottle.

"Tony, this has to stop!" he yelled.

Tony stared at him in surprise, but his surprise twisted into anger. An anger that was all too familiar, but on the wrong face. Bruce almost shrank in on himself, but he stood his ground.

"Bruce, give me back the bottle!" he shouted.

Bruce made no moves to comply.

"Dammit, Banner!" He raged, throwing one of the crystal tumblers past Bruce's head. "I am not playing games!"

Bruce's eyes went wide as the glass was loosed. He cringed and started shaking when it shattered when it hit the wall. It had gone well wide of his head, but he was still far from sure that Tony hadn't intended to hit him. 

He tried to school his features, and stop his shaking, but he couldn't. For all his statements about Tony not being his father, right now he was the perfect picture of him. His face was contorted in rage, and his eyes gleamed dangerously as his chest heaved with his barely contained violence. 

"I'm not either! Tony, I can't do this anymore! I won't watch! I won't watch you destroy yourself! I won't watch you become someone else!" he cried almost hysterically.

"What exactly does that mean?" Tony asked with an edge to his voice.

"It means this has to stop! . . . Or . . . I'm leaving. It's the alcohol or me. I can't keep doing this," he said, his voice fading to a whisper by the end.

"You're saying . . .you're going to leave me if I don't stop drinking?" Tony questioned, something akin to shock in his voice.

"Yes," he answered simply and levelly, though his heart and mind were far from as calm as his voice.

"Then, get out," Tony said flatly.

"What?" Bruce asked. His heart was breaking. He knew he shouldn't have given him an ultimatum, but he didn't know what else to do; it was all just too painful. And he couldn't help the shock that washed over him; even though he knew it was a possibility, he wasn't prepared for Tony not to choose him.

"You said it was give up the drinking, or lose you. I've made my choice. Get out. You can stay in your old apartment until you make other arrangements if you'd like, but you need to get out of my face," he said unfeelingly.

"Don't worry, I have places I can go. I'll leave tonight," Bruce said as neutrally as he could.

He walked slowly to their, no _Tony's_ , bedroom, deliberately stopping himself from running. He packed his single bag, making sure only to take what he had brought with him, and then walked out of the penthouse and Stark Tower.

Only once he was a few blocks away did he let himself cry. He couldn't hold it back anymore, even if people were staring at him as he continued to make his way to the train station. He didn't know how it had come to this, but he reassured himself that he was doing the right thing.


	11. The Day After

Tony awoke with his head pounding. He groaned as he lifted his head and took in the disarray of the room, and the various smashed bottles and tumblers that littered the floor with shards of broken glass. He didn't remember doing that . . . .

"J, what happened last night?" he groaned.

"You and Dr. Banner had an argument," JARVIS started.

"Oh yeah, I told him to 'fuck off'. I should probably apologize about that. I still think it's none of his business, but I shouldn't have been rude," he said, recalling the argument he and Bruce had had in the workshop.

"That argument took place yesterday morning, sir. I was referring to the one that took place last night," the AI clarified.

"I argued with Bruce last night? I don't remember that," he commented.

He looked around the room, seeing the broken glass again with a new horror, "The glass . . .did I . . .was that . . ..?"

"If you are trying to ask if the glassware was broken during your argument, the answer is that most of it was thrown against the wall after Dr. Banner left," JARVIS informed.

"Most of it?" He questioned nervously.

"You did throw a tumbler at him before he left," JARVIS clarified.

"I threw something at him? . . . And he left? Where did he go? Where is he now?" Tony inquired desperately. 

This was bad. Very bad. He couldn't believe he had thrown something at Bruce!

"I do not know where Dr. Banner went, or where he is now, sir. All I know is that he packed his things and has left the Tower permanently," the AI responded.

"What? Why did he leave? Was he that upset over what happened?" Tony queried in disbelief.

"Dr. Banner was quite upset by the events of last night, but he left because you told him to," JARVIS answered, and though he was using his normal, neutral tone, you could almost hear his exasperation.

"I what?!? JARVIS, play back the footage from last night. I don't think I'm going to believe this until I see it," Tony instructed.

Tony watched the video and saw himself avoiding Bruce's attempts to comfort him and making a show of pouring a glass of whiskey. He was slightly surprised when he saw Bruce grab the bottle out of his hand, but he couldn't help but notice the desperation on his face. Then he was struck with horror as he watched himself scream at Bruce in a rage and throw one of the glasses past his head. Bruce's reaction wasn't lost on him either. Sorrowfully, he watched the rest of their confrontation play out, even though he wished he could make the whole thing go away. Finally, as footage of him throwing anything close at hand in a destructive fit of anger after Bruce walked out the door filled the screen, JARVIS at last turned it off.

"Did you see his face? When I threw something at him? He looked . . . " Tony started mournfully.

"Terrified, sir?" his AI supplied.

"I was going to say afraid, but terrified is probably better. He was shaking, JARVIS. What did I do?" he lamented.

"Probably reminded him of his father, sir," JARVIS informed.

"What?!? The question was rhetorical," Tony replied in surprise.

"I know, sir, but I thought that you should know," the AI commented.

The screen in front of him filled with Bruce's SHIELD file. The parts about his childhood were highlighted. There were mentions of abuse by his drunken father, records of hospital visits and inquiries by Child Protective Services, and finally a death certificate for Rebecca Banner paired with a police report naming Brian Banner as her killer and a ten-year-old Bruce Banner as the only witness.

"Is that why Bruce flinches whenever he smells alcohol on my breath?" Tony asked sorrowfully.

"Most likely sir," the AI answered.

"So much for 'it's no one else's business' and 'It's not like I'm hurting anyone.' I've been a real asshole, JARVIS," he lamented.

"Yes, you have sir," he agreed.

"Hey!" Tony protested, but he sighed in resignation, "It's true though. I was triggering him for weeks, and he just stayed by my side. He tried to keep me from becoming the monster I became last night, and I ignored him and all the pain he was going through.

I don't know if I can ever make this right, J. If I go after him, he won't believe me if I say I'll change. Not after what I did last night. Not after I told him I chose booze over him.

He had every reason to leave. . . . What am I going to do?"

"Perhaps you should show him that you mean it, sir," JARVIS advised.


	12. Gandhinagar

_Gandhinagar, India_

After nearly a week of searching all across India, Tony was outside of the broken-down, hut-like home of someone who several people nearby had told him was "the kind, American doctor." Tony was sincerely hoping it was the right doctor.

The door was open, so Tony strode right in. The interior was just as shabby as the exterior, and the furnishing in the main room, or whatever one called the open space just inside the door, consisted of a small table, a single chair, and a small second-hand, (if not just salvaged from the dump), stove.

No one was in sight, but there were three deteriorating doors leading out of the main space, and Tony decided to announce his presence and see if anyone was home.

"Is there a doctor in?" he called, deciding Bruce had a better chance of responding to that than having his name called, or Tony merely stating who he was.

"Yes," he answered, entering into the room from the door on the left.

When he saw who stood in front of him he almost looked like he'd been struck before he whispered, "Tony?"

"Bruce, just listen. I understand you're mad at me, and you have every reason to be. I didn't treat you very well. I hurt us both, and I was too stupid to see it," he rushed, afraid that Bruce would walk out on him.

He paused to study Bruce's face, which remained impassive, and continued, "The night you walked out, was my rock bottom. I became violent, and I drove away the person I love most. When I realized what I had done, I was disgusted with myself. I knew I needed help."

"Tony . . ." Bruce started gently.

"I took your advice, and I started seeing a therapist. I'm working toward facing my PTSD, and I haven't had a drink in over a month," he said. 

"Congratulations, Tony. I'm glad you're working on putting your life together, but that doesn't change anything between us. You still chose alcohol over me. . . Now you think you can show up here talking about how much progress you've made, and I'll come home with you and . . . .what? . . . we'll just pick up where we left off?" he said, hurt evident in his voice by the time he finished.

"I don't," Tony said sadly. "I just wanted you to know that telling you to leave was the worst mistake of my life . . . but I know it was my mistake, and I have to live with the consequences of it. . . I also wanted you to know, that if you ever want to come back to Avengers' Tower, you're welcome there. Your floor is ready. . . Bruce, I took away your home and your team, and I needed to let you know that I'm sorry. If or when you return, the rest of the team is waiting to greet you with open arms. They miss you."

"I miss them too, but it's not that simple. I have a life here. . . It's been almost two months. Almost two months since I left, and I haven't heard a word from you. Didn't you think I would move on?" 

"Have you moved on?"

"I . . . . I . . . ."

"I don't think you have. You said once that the Tower was the only home you'd ever had. That for once you felt like you belonged somewhere. Like you were safe. I don't want to take that away from you. 

That's why I'm here. I wanted you to know I'm not acting like I was when you left, and it's safe again . . . .You deserve a place to call home, and now you can come back to it. 

Please don't let me stand in your way. I promise I won't bother you. We can go back to being teammates, and maybe one day I'll earn back your trust and we can be friends again."

"But, I can't . . . don't you understand? When I said I finally had a home, I wasn't talking about the Tower. I wasn't talking about New York, or any location. I was talking about the team, and most importantly about _you_. I had a home because I had a place where I belonged, and that was _with you_ ; wherever we were. . . if I go back to the Tower and we avoid each other, then there's no home to go back to . . . I just can't . . . "

"Then start over with me. We can rebuild our relationship from the ground up."

"Tony . . ."

"Look, I know I have no right to ask you for a second chance, but I feel the same way about you. I have mansions, apartments, and houses all over the world, but the only time I feel _at home_ is when I'm with you. I thought I had ruined that forever, and maybe I have, but if you feel as lost as I do, then maybe we should try again."

"Tony, I wish I could . . ."

"Do you still love me?"

"What?!?"

"Do you still love me, Bruce?"

"Of course I love you. I'm always going to love you. But that doesn't mean that we should be together."

"Maybe not, but if you love me, and I love you, and we're miserable apart, maybe . . .just maybe, we can find happiness together. . . . I'm not saying it's going to be easy. There's a lot of trust that needs to be mended, and there are a lot of issues that we both will have to work through. But I'm willing to try. I'm willing to fight to make this work, because I _know_ I'm better with you than I am without you. What do you think, Bruce?"

"Tony, you really hurt me," Bruce hedged.

"I know," Tony acknowledged, bowing his head slightly.

"And I made things worse by dragging my own issues into it," Bruce added.

"That'll happen. Let's face it, we both have a lot of baggage," Tony responded matter-of-factly.

"But . . . I guess I'm willing to try," he said hesitantly.

Tony smiled and wrapped him in a loose hug, careful to allow him to the chance to push him away if he so chose. He only tightened his arms when Bruce returned the hug.

He pulled back, his eyes gleaming, and said, "Then let's go home."


End file.
